The Science of Mythology
by Juli Beawr
Summary: That is, if science even exists. Considering there are Egyptian, Roman, Greek and even Persian gods, you begin to doubt that the silly thing mortals call Fact, is all pretty much Cerberus poo.. and now the world has to be saved by an ambitious ghost and a vengeful god ... Jeez, people! Why can't you just let these heroes live their lives!


Walt was being chased through Manhattan by a guy with a sword.

For a person like Walt, this was almost normal. Considering he was a magician, a godling, and most importantly, the boyfriend of Sadie Kane; life could get pretty interesting sometimes. Being chased by someone with a sword was almost a common occurrence for him.

For example, Sadie's overprotective older brother Carter once caught the two making-out, and threatened Walt with his kopesh. Another time Julian, the twenty-first nome's combat magic teacher had him at sword-point for accidentally turning his linen pants into a pile of ash, displaying his cotton Catwoman undies (Bast would be proud) to the entire class. Or when one of Walt's pet jackals got a hold of an irreplaceable scroll, chewed, and swallowed it. Walt still had nightmares about that incident in the hallway... Cleo stalking him with her dagger raised high.

But this... this was new.

Walt figured that after all he'd been through; he shouldn't have been surprised. Walt had withstood a curse, died, fuses souls with the Egyptian god of death, fought Chaos himself, and even eaten a chocolate Vladimir Lenin head for Ra's sake! So Walt shouldn't have been startled in the least when three teenage kids suited in Greek and Roman armor rode Pegasus to the Empire State Building... and he certainly shouldn't have vaporized the car parked next to him in his panic.

Now he was running. If he were anywhere else, he would have used some magic or charms to stall or ward off the guys, but he was in Manhattan, and if mortals saw him doing magic they might believe he was a terrorist or something. Mortals believe anything BUT the truth.

Walt looked behind him to see how far his pursuers had gained; which probably wasn't very smart since he was still running. There was only one now. The other two had disappeared, going Osiris knows where. The last one had black hair that peeked out of the sides of his Roman helmet, and a bronze sword that reflected so much light it looked like it was glowing. Mortals paid no heed to his sword, but that proved as an advantage as well as a disadvantage. No matter what the poor guy in medieval armor did, the mortals refused to get out of his way.

_Walt! Pay attention!_ The voice in his head demanded. Walt looked back to where he was going, narrowly dodged a hotdog stand, and kept running.

_Thanks, Anubis. _Walt thought.

_No problem_, his parasite god replied. _Can't have you stampeding hotdogs while we're running for our lives, now can we?_

Walt was dying from a curse, and before the Aphopis war; Walt actually did die. Anubis, the mummification death god, immediately made Walt his host and sustained Walt's life with his own. It's been two years, and now the two were good friends... but Walt suspected that every god and their Eye became close.

Suddenly Walt was tackled over from the side, coincidentally knocking over a few mortals in the process. His offender straightened quickly, and Walt scrambled to his feet. He inspected the person who had trampled him.

He was one of the armored kids, but his helmet was removed.

The kid was no older than fifteen, was short, skinny, and generally unhealthy looking. He was as pale as a corpse and had dark circles under his eyes. The kid didn't look like the type of person who would be strong enough to be able to lift a pillow, much less push a fully grown eighteen year old to the ground.

Walt was terrified.

Walt figured it was his eyes that terrified him so much, but he seemed to radiate fear. His irises were a brown so dark they could be mistaken for black. They were endless and deep, soulpeircing, unreadable. The kids eyes had a glint in them, like the look of a madman; a look that shouldn't be associated with one so young and childlike.

The kid shuffled and gave Walt a once over. Walt found the generally unimpressed look a little offensive.

"Nico Di Angelo," The kid introduced in faintly Italian or french accented English. Nico didn't offer a hand to shake, but he did figit nervously with a Velcro strap on his armor. Walt wondered if they had Velcro in ancient Greek and Roman times… he didn't think they did.

_Oh no... _Walt heard Anubis murmur.

_What?_ He asked.

_Walt, we shouldn't have gone there! I should have been more responsible! Now my host is in danger and it's all my fault! _Anubis cried. Walt shot a look to the Di Angelo kid. He didn't look dangerous. He looked depressed and maybe slightly goth, but dangerous? Not quite.

_Don't underestimate him, Walt! _Anubis snapped. _That will only make him all the more dangerous! _Walt stole another glance at the kid, who was now staring at Walt with a look of familiarity. Nico brushed a strand of shaggy black hair away, which promptly fell back over his eyes.

_Extremely dangerous, you say?_ Walt asked disbelievingly.

_You need to get back to Brooklyn House!_

"You think I don't know that?" Walt snapped in irritation.

"Excuse me?"

Khonsu's moonlight! He had spoken aloud! Walt clammed up.

"I'm err... just talking to myself," Walt stammered. Well, it wasn't entirely a lie...

Nico's eyebrow crept up as if he didn't believe him, but he let it go. The "dangerous" kid leaned forward and inspected Walt. The glint of madness shown in the boy's eyes for a moment, making Walt recoil slightly.

The eighteen year old glanced back to check if the other armored teenager had gained distance. Walt spotted him protesting to an old lady who seemed to be whacking him over the head with a tennis racket. He stifled a laugh.

"Do I know you?" He heard Nico ask. Walt started and turned his attention back to the boy. Why would Nico think that?

"It's just..." Nico continued, leaning uncomfortably closer to Walt. With a shudder, Walt realized he smelled like death. "You look so familiar... and," his next few words came out as a strangled whisper. " I can sense death on you. A lot of death,"

Walt's blood turned cold.

_Walt, run. _Anubis ordered. Walt obliged, making way to bolt down the crowded Manhattan streets, but a cold, pale hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. There was a cry of agony from behind him, and Walt spun around.

Nico fell to the ground and writhed on the asphalt. Pedestrians gathered around to watch the spectacle. The ashen-haired fifteen-year old's hands were clamped onto his ears and tears streamed out of his squeezed shut eyes.

"_Di Immortales! Questo dolore è insopportabile padre! _Help me, Father! The pain consumes me! P_er farlo smettere! Ο πόνος είναι αφόρητη! Γιατί εμένα; _The ringing is unbearable!_ Perchè io?! Perchè io?! Perchè io?!_" Nico screamed. Walt stared in horror he began to back away slowly. Nico's eyes opened just before Walt was out of sight. He looked Walt in the eyes and yelled in slightly accented English, "Why won't you just die already? !"

Walt turned and ran.

* * *

**Jeez, this is an awfully short start... I usually have MUCH longer chapters. This plotline just kept nagging at me. Hope you enjoy it!**


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